


Fledgling

by anti_ela



Series: Young Severus Snape [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Hogwarts Fifth Year, I love the Marauders but there is not one well-adjusted boy among them, Mentor Remus Lupin, Mentor Severus Snape, Occlumency, Past Child Abuse, Patronus, Pensieves, Snape's Worst Memory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-20 07:15:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19371886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anti_ela/pseuds/anti_ela
Summary: After viewing Snape's worst memory, Harry's patronus changes.





	Fledgling

**Author's Note:**

> Much of Harry's conversation with Remus is lifted or remixed from OotP.

> “For nearly five years the thought of his father had been a source of comfort, of inspiration. Whenever someone had told him her was like James he had glowed with pride inside. And now… now he felt cold and miserable at the thought of him.”
> 
> _ Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix _ , J.K. Rowling

Harry lay awake, listening to his dorm mates sleeping. He couldn’t stop replaying Snape’s memory, comparing it to his own. Had Dudley been a wizard, he might have done the same to Harry… Malfoy was cruel, but even he kept his bullying to words… And someone would have stopped both of them, surely? A professor would have protected Harry…

Harry swung his legs to the side of the bed but did not rise, gripping and releasing the covers as he gently swayed back and forth. The slight warmth of the early spring day had leached from the air, and the stone was cool as always against his feet. He flexed his toes against the floor, worn smooth by generations of Gryffindors.

In one swift motion, Harry stood, snatched his wand, and whispered,  “ _ Expecto Patronum. _ ”

A silvery mist rose from the tip of his wand. He slashed the air with his wand, dispelling it.

He closed his eyes, filtering through his happy memories. Breathing slowly, he let them fill his mind until he knew that it would work.

“ _ Expecto Patronum _ !”

A silvery goshawk flew from his wand. It rose to the ceiling and then dove, skimming desks, twisting its wings and fanning its tail to squeeze through Ron’s bed curtains. His heart raced as he watched it fly out of the window; he followed its flight with his eyes as it soared higher and higher until it banked around a tower and out of sight.

Ron’s sleepy voice called, “You alright, mate?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, voice tight. “Yeah, go back to sleep.”

\-----

Remus rubbed his temples and bent over the report once more. Mundungus might be useful, but his penmanship was atrocious, and his spelling was worse. Remus had enjoyed teaching, but deciphering this brought back the worst of his students’ essays.

“Sirius?”

Remus jumped and looked around, only to see Harry Potter’s face in the green fire. “Harry! What are you--what’s happened, is everything all right?”

“Yeah,” said Harry. “I just wanted--I mean, I just fancied a--a chat with Sirius.”

Remus stood and said, “I’ll call him,” but before he could turn to the stairs Harry said “wait!” Remus blinked down at Harry, who looked sickly in the green light.

“I’m not sure he’d like it,” Harry mumbled.

Remus crossed to the hearth and knelt. “What is it, Harry?”

Harry looked down at the floor near Remus’s knees. “My patronus, it’s--it changed.”

Remus relaxed. “That’s alright, Harry. The charm’s shape reflects you, but it can change throughout your lifetime to mirror people who are important to you.”

“You don’t get it,” Harry said morosely. “The stag was the mirror.”

“Well,” Remus said slowly, “that makes sense. Did something happen, Harry?”

As Harry urgently described what he’d seen, Remus wished that Sirius was there. Two decades later, he could imagine his professorial response to such a scene. He had ignored it as a prefect, as a teenage werewolf that had only recently avoided murdering Snape; but as an adult, he would have been responsible for Snape’s safety.

Once Harry had finished, looking lost, Remus said softly, “I wouldn’t like you to judge your father on what you saw there, Harry. He was only fifteen--”

“I’m fifteen!” said Harry heatedly.

Remus settled back, palms on his thighs as he studied Harry. “Yes, you are, and you have had a very different life from your father. He was a child for much longer than you were allowed to be.”

“So what? What does childishness have to do with anything? Sirius still calls Snape that!”

“Professor Snape,” Remus corrected absently. Harry gaped at him, and Remus flushed.

“You just sat there! And you still don’t say anything! And--and you had Neville dress Snape up like his gran, but I have to call him Professor Snape?”

Remus rubbed his hands against his trousers, idly assessing how much longer this pair would survive. “We were idiots in school while You-Know-Who gathered followers, turning our peers into Death Eaters. What you didn’t see were the Muggle disappearances, the Muggle-born deaths… Mulciber, Avery, Snape, all of them took the Mark young. We joined the Order. I… James was a different man at twenty-one than he was at fifteen, Harry.”

“When did he stop?”

Remus closed his eyes. “Stop what, Harry?”

“When did he stop hurting Snape because he existed?”

Remus fought the urge to bolt. “Well,” he said slowly, “Snape was a special case…” Only Remus was not entirely convinced, at thirty-six, that he ought to have been.

“He never stopped, did he,” Harry said dully. “And my mum was okay with that?”

“Lily didn’t know. They only started dating in seventh year, after James stopped hexing people just for the fun of it. She may have believed that extended to Snape.”

Harry’s look was beseeching. “Why?”

“Snape still cursed James; James still jinxed Snape. They didn’t make a spectacle of it anymore, but they hated each other from the moment they set eyes on each other. That never changed.”

Harry shook his head. “I never thought I’d feel sorry for Snape,” he said heavily.

“Now you mention it, how did Snape react when he found you’d seen all that?”

“He told me he’d never teach me Occlumency again,” said Harry indifferently, “like that’s a big disappointment.”

Remus leaned forward. “Right,” he said. “You’ve suffered our consequences long enough. I’ll talk to Severus, Harry.”

Harry blinked. “Er, it’s not a big deal--”

“Nothing is more important than you learning Occlumency, Harry,” Remus said as he rose. How best could he reach Snape?

“Really, Professor, you don’t have to!”

But Remus was not to be dissuaded. “Oh,” he said, “what’s your new form?”

Harry blinked, but then he tilted his head and said, “Is that Sirius coming downstairs?”

“No,” said Remus, listening, “he’s still on the second floor.”

“Shit,” Harry said. “Well, bye! Tell Sirius I, well--don’t tell Sirius, alright?”

Before Remus could reply, Harry’s head was gone from Grimmauld Place. He shuddered at the image of Harry’s head joining the dessicated house-elves’ as decoration. They truly needed to remove those, or at least obscure them properly.

\-----

Harry reread the note Snape had thrust into his face after dragging him bodily through the halls and pushing him into the office.

_ “For what it’s worth, his guardian has changed. Please reconsider.” _

“Explain,” Snape snapped.

Harry bit his bottom lip and looked back at the parchment, then studied his professor. Snape’s black eyes glittered with as much malice as ever; his sneer was just as vicious. Harry closed his eyes and cast. At Snape’s soft inhale, Harry peeked. Snape was following the goshawk’s flight around his office; its flickering ghostly light seemed to animate the Snape’s pickled dead things. Harry shivered.

When Snape turned back to Harry, his face was strange. “I don’t need your pity, Potter.”

“You don’t have it, sir,” Harry said softly. “I just get it now.”

Snape sneered. “What, precisely, do you believe is within your meager understanding?"

Harry’s gaze drifted to the shelf where Snape had stored Dumbledore’s Pensieve. “Could I just show you? Sir?”

Snape surveyed Harry for a few moments, then whirled and strode to the shelf. “Very well, Potter. If you desire to share further weaknesses with me, I shall not stop you.”

Once Snape placed the Pensieve on his desk, Harry approached it cautiously. He felt particularly stupid as he stared at the stone basin under Snape’s gaze. He raised his wand, but lowered it before touching his temple. “Is there an incantation or a trick to it, sir?”

“Well, first,” Snape said slowly, “you think of something very, very hard. Hopefully, this will not be beyond you, but I have no expectations. Second, you tap your wand against your frontal lobe--that’s in your brain, Potter, which most people store in their skulls--”

With a growl, Harry pulled memory after memory, releasing each into the Pensieve. "Right," he said tersely. "My five to your one. That ought to suit your version of justice. Sir."

"It's an adequate start, Potter," Snape said silkily. "You may enter first."

Harry hesitated, then shrugged. He didn't particularly want to see Snape gloat over his suffering, but he was used to the Dursleys doing the same. He bowed over the Pensieve and pressed his face into it, falling into memory. After a moment, Snape joined him.

In the smallest bedroom of Number 4, Privet Drive, twelve-year-old Harry Potter lay soaking in his own sweat. Fifteen-year-old Harry Potter leaned against the wall with his eyes closed.

"What is this?"

"The window bars are window bars, and the cat flap is a cat flap." Harry paused. "Sir."

The whisper of fabric announced Snape's pacing. "Well? What's happening?"

"The flu, sir. You're about to witness Aunt Petunia's loving care."

Snape snorted. A few minutes later, Petunia's hand reached through the flap and left an open can of soup. How Harry hated the smell of it.

"Please," rattled little Harry, but Petunia did not return.

Dragging himself from the bed, little Harry crawled across the floor and pitched the can into his mouth. Harry thought about flying, about the particular feel of the Wronski Feint in the pit of his stomach.

"You're emaciated," Snape said coolly.

"That's what happens when people starve you, sir. Mrs. Weasley fattened me up a bit after the twins rescued me, though."

Snape was quiet a moment, and then he said, "A flying car was involved, I presume?"

"Always knew you were clever, sir."

Shouts alerted him to the memory shift. He opened his eyes to see some younger him darting through a field as he held up his too-large trousers and held onto his busted glasses. With a vague sense of interest, he noticed that he and Snape were gliding along the ground at speed.

"Better run, Potter! Gonna kill you!"

Young Harry was pelted with a few rocks, and the boys behind him crowed. "Nice one, Big D!"

"I think I may have seen this," Snape said, sounding disappointed, "or something very like it."

Young Harry tripped and fell, scrambling to stand. Harry thought about the split second before the Snitch knew it was caught, how it squirmed in his hand. "Yeah, Harry hunting was a favorite."

Dudley's gang pounced. Harry closed his eyes, wincing at the remembered rib fractures.

"What did you do?" Snape asked.

"It's more the fact that I exist, if you know what I mean," Harry said, bitterly imitating his father's posh accent.

Snape turned away from the pile to look at Harry. "I'm not some innocent creature, Potter. You may have noticed that I fought back."

Harry shrugged. "For me, it ended at Hogwarts." Thinking of Snape and Malfoy, he added, "Well, mostly. I just have to put up with them two months out of the year, and since I usually go back after facing Vol--him, I've got a bit of perspective."

Snape didn't speak again until the scene went dark. Recognizing the smell, Harry snickered, knowing Snape would find this one tedious.

"What is it, Potter?"

"Morning routine. I just added it because it pisses me off when you call me spoiled, if I'm honest."

Petunia opened the cupboard door, hissing at the smallest Harry yet to get breakfast started. Harry followed them into the dim kitchen and watched as tiny Harry pulled a chair to the counter so he could cook. Petunia, as ever, was at the window. Turning to joke with Snape, Harry noticed the man wasn't there. He retraced his steps, finding his professor in the living room, looking into the cupboard.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes, that's where I slept. Come on, Snape, you're missing me being waited on hand and foot."

Snape did not turn. "Does the headmaster know?"

Harry frowned. "It's where my letters were addressed."

"I see. And the rest?"

"Look," said Harry, feeling exasperated, "I asked if I could stay at Hogwarts, and he said no. I asked if I could stay at the Burrow, and he said no. The last time I ran away, the Minister tracked me down. I'm, I don't know, I'm resigned to it. If I get to seventeen, I'll move in with Sirius and burn old Black heirlooms with him for the rest of my days. Until then, come look at how adored I was."

Then Petunia shrieked "idiot boy!" Harry heard a wet thud, and the memory went black.

"Oh," Harry said. "Er. Didn't mean to pick that one."

Harry wondered how long a memory gap could last in a Pensieve. But Snape grabbed his arm and pulled him out, so he never learned.

Once they returned to Snape's office, Snape stalked to his chair and sank into it. "Well? Take them back, Potter."

As Harry swirled the memories with his wand, Snape clapped his hands. When a house-elf appeared, he said, "Tea service. Roasted green tea and… what the hell do you drink, Potter? Hot chocolate? Butterbeer? Something equally disgusting? Potter will have whatever black tea Minerva drinks."

Harry blinked at Snape as the house-elf disappeared with a crack. When Snape looked at him, Harry thwacked his wand against his temple and shuddered at the shivery sensation of his memories returning.

"Sir?" Harry asked.

Snape waved his hand as if to dispel Harry's curiosity. "Occlumency. One night per week."

The house-elf returned and settled the tea service between them. Snape frowned at the sandwiches, biscuits, and fruit tarts he hadn't requested, but said a curt "thank you" to the elf, who squeaked and disappeared.

Snape poured himself some tea, then pushed the tray nearer to Harry. Harry reached for one of the toasties and, when Snape did nothing beyond staring into his cup, snatched it.

"Occlumency!" Snape exclaimed, causing Harry to choke on a bit of sandwich. "Clearing your mind! Think it, accept it, let it go." He looked up at Harry's wheezing, then frowned and flicked his wand. Harry inhaled deeply. "Do try not to die in my office, Potter."

Harry nodded, poured some tea, and gulped it down. "So I just, er, accept my feelings or whatever?"

Snape's long fingers twitched against his desk. When he spoke, his voice sounded strained. "Yes. As I said. Once your tea is finished, sit back, close your eyes, and allow your thoughts to drift."

After a few moments of staring at the back of his eyelids, aware of Snape's every breath, Harry started to bounce his leg. Then he tugged on the hem of his shirt. "You know," he said suddenly, "you missed out on one you'd like. The Dursleys agree with you about my parents: Mum was a bad egg, Dad was a wastrel. 'Bad blood will out.'" He didn't add, 'You'd like Aunt Marge,' but he thought it as loudly as he could.

"Potter." Harry opened his eyes; Snape looked thunderous. "Consider my motives. I left you in a room with an unguarded memory after Draco called me out. Do I trust you so well? Perhaps I wanted you to discover your father's and godfather's true natures and end my weekly appointments with you via entrapment."

Harry blinked. "I guess it worked, then?"

"No, you wretched boy, listen. Black and Lupin, Dursley and I, are any of us pure beacons of honesty? Do you know what happened before that memory, what happened after?"

"That doesn't matter!" Harry roared, finding himself on his feet. "It was wrong!"

"Is subtlety truly beyond you? Can you not imagine the world to be complex?"

"What's complex about it? Four against one, and the only person who interfered barely even tried!"

But this seemed to be the wrong thing to say. Suddenly, Snape loomed over Harry, his face very near and terrible. "Certainly," he said silkily, "blame her. Did you not hear what I said?"

"You were angry," Harry started, but Snape's face twisted.

"Perhaps I said that to her every day, what do you know? You think you can look at one moment and know the whole of my life, but what do you know?"

Harry sat, as much to relieve his weakened legs as to move away from Snape.  "I, I'm not sure."

"Finally," Snape snapped, sitting once more. He flicked a tendril of hair out of his face. "Review your thoughts. Accept them. Let them go. Once I deem you ready, we will begin."


End file.
